


you're a king and i've always wanted to be a lionheart

by kilewolf



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Fluff and Angst in One Gay Package, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kilewolf/pseuds/kilewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of scenes from Yamamoto's point of view, up to the Varia arc. He believes this is what you call "falling head over heels".</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're a king and i've always wanted to be a lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: KHR and all of its characters belong to Amano Akira.

Takeshi loves Tsuna more than he can express.

Not that he tries to express it. He’s not really good at that. Besides, Tsuna flails and fumbles around so much already that Takeshi would hate—however laughingly—to add to the growing pile of _stuff_ on his hands. Tsuna is so, so short. If all the stress he was carrying were actual physical objects, he would probably already be half-buried. The thought is half-adorable, half-concerning, just as it always is. Takeshi can’t help but peer down at Tsuna, just to check that he’s still small, cute, and okay. Yep, there he is still. Takeshi doesn’t know why he’s pleasantly surprised every time, but he is. That’s the funny thing about Tsuna: every time Takeshi sees him, it’s like a small, unexpected rush of warmth that floods right through him, and it leaves him surprisingly—puzzlingly—content with the general nature of life for hours afterwards. When he thinks about it, it doesn’t really make sense, because why does it catch him off guard if it happens every time? Haha. Takeshi supposes he’s just a bit silly that way. It’s okay. Anyone would get a bit silly around Tsuna. It feels a little bit like a bad love song.

* * *

 

Okay, so it feels _exactly_ like a bad love song. It’s ridiculous: they've barely talked about anything except school and the mafia game since Takeshi tried to throw himself off a building.

Takeshi doesn’t mind, though. He doesn’t get nervous—and besides, there’s nothing to be nervous about. After all, _this_ —he doesn’t really have the right words to describe this—is more than he’d ever bargained for, and he would never dream of asking for anything else. He’s perfectly happy, to the furthest extent that he can be, even if—

He would never take this for granted.

* * *

 

He’s failed.

He’s failed for the first time since this whole thing started (since it felt like he got a second chance), and bitterly, resoundingly, he feels it all crashing down, and for a split second, it’s all back. Like he’s woken up from a good dream. And they feel tangible again. The bad things he’d told himself he wouldn’t think about anymore—the image of the rooftop looming before him—the bad things he pretended not to think about anymore. Takeshi fools himself best and least.

But no. It’s okay. Tsuna is safe, and—well, Tsuna is safe.

It’s bad. But it’s been worse.

At the end of the day, Takeshi licks his wounds, and thinks, _Well, okay. It’s time to learn how to use a sword, I guess._ The long-haired man's words echo kind of terribly in his mind. He takes a deep breath. He’s calmed down—not that his not-calm had lasted any longer than the silence between heartbeats.

The best thing about a game is that you can always just try again. He has always stood by this. Hard work and diligence may pay off or not, but there is always the possibility of a do-over—if you play by the rules of a game, you can always meet again.

Takeshi won’t lose next time.

* * *

 

He wins. Of course he does—he had to.

It feels a little bit like hitting the run that nets your team the win. It feels a little like catching the ball when you think you aren’t going to make it. It feels a little like both at once—it feels a little like redemption.

 _See_ , Takeshi thinks, exhilarated, _you can do it after all_.

No turning back. No regrets. The edges of the ring (Squalo’s—no, **his** now) digging into his hand feel like a promise.

* * *

 

He figured it out a while ago. It’s not just warmth that he feels, when they brush shoulders—okay, when Takeshi purposefully brushes his shoulder against his. When Takeshi slings an arm around his neck. When Takeshi jogs to follow him home even though they’ve already had four study sessions this week, and there’s no test.

Takeshi thinks he’s probably being a bit obvious.

That’s okay, though. (Most things concerning Tsuna are.) Tsuna is somehow oblivious, in a way that Takeshi finds—perfect. Tsuna is kind, gentle, soft—there he goes again with his arm doing the thing, haha _oops_ —and he doesn’t ever ask for anything in return.

Takeshi wants to give him so many things. He just doesn’t know what exactly yet. But he’ll figure it out.

* * *

 

But before he figures that out. The other thing, the thing he’d figured out before. The words tickle his throat as he considers letting them out. Who would he even tell? There’s no one he really tells things to. He’s not used to telling things either. Takeshi stares at his reflection, perplexed. He could tell himself, he supposes; but he already knows what he’s going to say anyway, so what’s the point?

* * *

 

The weird thing about trying to kill yourself in your school uniform is that you still have to wear it every day after.

There are days where he thinks about it, and days where he doesn’t. That’s normal, he thinks. Of course he can’t be sure—but he doesn’t have anyone to ask. That’s okay, too. He doesn’t particularly feel like asking. Sometimes Takeshi suspects that he’s okay with way too many things in life—but then he finds that he’s okay with that, too.

Anyway. Things are lively, lately. Apparently they’re going to get up extra early tomorrow morning for some “special training”, whatever that means.

Takeshi is glad he didn’t die.

* * *

 

Gokudera is a funny guy. The muscles he seems to flex the most are the ones in his eyebrows, and he’s constantly slouching and looming around like he’s trying to be intimidating, but he’s really short.

Haha.

For some reason, Gokudera’s preferred method of communicating with Takeshi seems to be yelling at him, even when he's close by. Which is weird, but hey, he does weird things sometimes too! He won't judge Gokudera.

One thing Gokudera does that makes perfect sense though, is Tsuna. Takeshi loves having Gokudera around, because it’s like someone is saying all the things he wants to say, without Takeshi having to tell anyone.

It’s like a secret confession, but not. Takeshi thinks it’s super sneaky.

* * *

 

It’s relief. The thing he figured out from before—it’s relief.

When he sees Tsuna, it’s not just warmth. He’s not just happy to see him, though he is (he always is). Whenever he sees Tsuna, part of him is always _relieved_. And that—

Hm. Not sure he wants to dissect that. Takeshi has gone through most of his life not poking at the things inside of him. Then again, look how that turned out. (It turned out Tsuna, so it’s all good. No? All right. He’ll humor his good side once in a while, too.)

* * *

 

Tsuna is worried.

Takeshi doesn’t like it. Tsuna looks like he’s stressing himself to death: there are bags under his eyes, he looks paler than usual, and he won’t stop fidgeting with the chain around his neck (with hands covered in scrapes and bruises; Takeshi feels his own fingers twitch, _stop that_ )—he literally looks like a burnt out ball of fluff. Normally at least part of Takeshi would be quietly amused by that, but Tsuna looks genuinely distressed. Well, he always looks genuinely distressed—which is something that never ceases to impress and perplex Takeshi—but today he looks actually. Upset.

Takeshi isn't surprised when he realizes (in about a fraction of a second) that _he_ finds that very upsetting.

 _How dare you_ , is his first thought. He’s immediately a little embarrassed—but not very. If anyone deserves to be put on a pedestal like that, it’s Tsuna. Gokudera never seems embarrassed when he says these things. Takeshi shouldn't be embarrassed either, in that case. He’s been trying to be more like Gokudera, after all. Practicing saying things in the mirror, one line at a time. So far he hasn’t made much progress; he manages to bring himself to mouth some things, but then he just feels silly. How does Gokudera do it?

Takeshi doesn’t ever want to change what they have. He just wants to get better, that’s all.

* * *

 

He’s not good enough.

He’s known that for a long time; it’s not a lesson that needs to be drilled into him. At all. He finds most things funny, but even he can’t find much humor in this topic. But anyway, he’s familiar with _you’re not good enough_ —thankfully, on his good days he’s equally well-acquainted with its buddy, _you can always get better_ \--that’s what training is for _**you baseball id**_ **—**

Oh, whoops. When did his inner voice start sounding like Gokudera? Haha. Hm. Actually, maybe that one isn’t so funny either. He shouldn’t make a habit of yelling at himself in his head. Anyway. He knows ‘you’re not good enough’—knows the words by heart, knows them etched into the dark, unlit side of his bones where even if they crack he can’t hear a sound, feels them on his breath when he breathes so they must be buried somewhere beneath his lungs, knows them better than he knows his own mother’s name—

A deep breath. Two words that echo in his mind, sort of like a tickle—sort of like the gentlest of scoldings.

_Dame Tsuna._

Tsuna’s not a failure. Never has been, never will be—he can’t possibly be. Everyone is wrong about him. Past Takeshi was wrong about him. And most importantly, crucially, critically—even Tsuna is wrong about himself, sometimes. And Takeshi has been wrong before. He’s been wrong a lot, actually. So maybe. Maybe.

It’s not a realization. He isn’t really convinced. But he feels part of him irrationally, groundlessly bloom with something that feels somewhat like hope.

Which is nice. He guesses. Sometimes he’s just in a mood to be upset by positive things, too. He doesn’t want to let that small bud within himself down—he doesn’t want to hurt it, now that it’s grown. He doesn’t want to let Tsuna down, either, but what can he do? There aren’t that many people he cares about (who care about him), but they’re already so much, and they already mean so much—how is he supposed to _**not** let them down ~~ag~~_ he feels like crying.

He should think about something else. What had he been thinking about, before this, again?

* * *

 

Tsuna touched his face today.

To be fair, Takeshi had fever. Has fever. Is lying in the infirmary bed with a wet towel on his forehead right now, actually. He doesn’t get sick often, but he supposes that’s what you get for falling down a waterfall on a mountain in late autumn. He doesn’t question why, exactly, they were on a waterfall mountain that particular day in late autumn—he kind of gets the feeling he should, but it was fun, and the fresh air had been very refreshing. The things the kid says are still true, even if he’s being dishonest. It had been a fun Saturday afternoon.

And if he has a fever now, well—Tsuna touched his face. His hand had been—right— _here_ —and Takeshi doesn’t know exactly how sick he is, because he can think of other reasons his skin would have been warm to the touch.

Oh god. He’d had to stand on _tippy-toe_ to do it. _How._

* * *

 

They’re up early for a training session, somewhere with way more than green than Takeshi could ever hope to keep track of in his head. The morning air is crisp against their skin, the sun barely yellow, and Gokudera—wrapped in a Tsuna’s-mom-bought-that-didn’t-she-Takeshi-loves-her scarf—is flitting around Tsuna like an excited hummingbird dog, flapping his arms overenthusiastically and going _Tenth Tenth Tenth Tenth Tenth_ to the point of near-annoyance and, to be honest, embarrassment, and Tsuna seems a bit overwhelmed but Gokudera can’t seem to _keep away_ —

Takeshi thinks that he’s never met anyone so relatable. It’s hilarious.

* * *

 

As far as he knows, Gokudera has never called Tsuna by his name.

In Takeshi’s opinion, Gokudera is missing out. Takeshi sort of understands why (Gokudera takes this game very seriously), but he doesn’t really; no game in the world, not even this one, could convince Takeshi to give up Tsuna’s name. Tsu-na. It rolls off the tongue nicely, is easy to say quickly, and invigorates you when you say it.

It’s his favorite name in the world.

* * *

 

It’s official. Takeshi is lawfully, irrefutably Tsuna’s Guardian. He knows it’s just a name, an office, a title—he would’ve done his utmost to protect Tsuna no matter what, ring or no ring, blood on blood oath—but it’s awfully nice to hear it. Gokudera, of course, is also elated. Perhaps elated isn’t strong enough a word: Takeshi has the impression that the newly-minted Guardian of the Storm is about to explode himself rather than his bombs. Of course, Takeshi himself is in no position to talk. He’s on cloud nine, seemingly drifting towards the heavens—his entire body feels like it’s made up of fluffy marshmallows, if marshmallows could also feel lean and strong and proud. It feels like—like a dream come true, literally. And he earned it. He did it right, this time.

He holds his ring up against the backdrop of the sky. It glints in the sunlight, silver and stately and valuable and _**his**_. He earned this—he’d actually won his fight—he had nothing to reproach himself for. The tenth generation Vongola Guardian of the Rain—he plays the words over and over in his head. They sound good. Maybe he’s mouthing them, too, or even saying them aloud under his breath—but probably not. He’s not really good at getting words to come out from inside his skull.

But that’s okay. From now on, he won’t need to bother with trying to word this one specific message anymore—the shining ring on his finger says it all.

He raises his— _ring hand_ —up towards the sun. It feels right, somehow. Baseball players don’t wear rings, but it feels right, somehow. Rings aren’t meant for sports. They aren’t meant for fighting, either. But they’re important, in their own way.

Rings. He thinks of blood. The blood of promise, the blood of inheritance, the blood of the future. He thinks of Tsuna. It all culminates in one ending.

 _Rings_ , Takeshi thinks, _are for kissing_.


End file.
